It’s tough being a Miliband. First the election. Six weeks on the stump; criss-crossing the country like a pair of demented snake-oil salesmen peddling Gordon Brown Miracle Wax, only to have your damn mule shot out from under you on election night. And then the next morning, while your compadres are slinking off into the boardroom backwoods, it’s down to you brothers to stumble out of bed, souse your heads in ice-cold water and go about the business of total self-reinvention with nothing but the shiny suit you’re standing in, a Blackberry and for vittles, a half-eaten mammal you snaggled on the back roads of Whitehall. (David, a squirrel. Ed, a tube mouse, Northern Line) But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. And you boys did have a big hand cooking up the Wax in the first place. So saddle up!

I’ve got nothing against the brudders. I’m sure they are nice to their mother and always lower the toilet seat after use. And as far as politicians-who’ve-got-a-chance-of-being-elected go, well, apart from being Tony Blair’s choirboys for the past ten years, at least they weren’t caught double-dipping in the expenses honey pot. On a scale of 1 to 10, they’re a 5. In the middle. Like a tub of Flora. But there’s a twist here. The Millibands are brothers who like each other. And that’s what makes their race for the leadership of the Labour party more bizarre than most political contests. Not only do they want to gloss over the power struggle for the voters, but this time, they’re almost as desperate to believe the whole charade themselves. 

Power. It’s a funny business. Kids reach out sticky fingers for it the minute they’re born, leaders weep like tiny babies when they lose their grip on it, but in politics, as in life, no one ever uses the P word. Have you ever heard a candidate admit they want power? No. Because it’s political suicide. Too naked, too Machiavellian. So what’s a power-crazed social misfit to do if he wants to get on? He’s got to justify his blazing ambition to be top of the pile somehow... he’s got to sell the dream. And so the modern politician has come up with just the thing. Public service. Listen to them. Ed and David and Nick and Barak talk a blue streak when it comes to being public servants. Talk about brazen doublespeak. They’re only in the game for us. I mean, somebody’s got to fix the crumbling school system, to slap down the bankers, to roust the benefit cheats from their sweaty sheets. And who better than humble old them? Our very own Jeeveses. 

But the trouble is, it’s simply not true. Power is a big taboo in modern society. I don’t know why, maybe it’s because we think we should have evolved beyond it by now, like those old Star Trek episodes where blond aliens in togas sit by polystyrene rocks and say lines like, ‘Four thousand years ago we banished violence from our midst, now all is Balance.’ But the fact remains that our whole lives are one long power struggle, whether it’s for personal ends or for public good. Our fight for dominance is neither good nor bad. It just is. We’re great apes and we work well in hierarchy. Go to any office Christmas party and feel the static. It’s a balloon jungle. 

You know we could do worse than taking a respectful glance at one of our closest cousins. According to the eminent primatologist Frans de Waal, it’s refreshing to work with chimpanzees, because they’re the honest politicians we all long for. In chimpanzee society, hierarchy permeates everything and it’s all out in the open. You don’t see chimps pretending. They live in a whirl of complex, ever-shifting coallitions and power is always up for grabs. It is what it is, and they have no qualms about it. If a chimp is on the rise, he’ll do what it takes and then throw himself down on his bamboo bed at night with a clear conscience.

Ah, I hear you saying, but we’re not chimps, are we? We’re more …. what? Complex? Evolved? After a lifetime of observing chimpanzees, Dr de Waal begs to differ. He believes that chimpanzee society is every bit as complex as ours, with a strong morality woven through it. If we judge a nation's greatness by how it treats its weakest members, then our cousins are punching way above their weight. You’d definitely be looking forward to your twilight years in this highly empathic, close-bonded bunch far more than you would under the Tories or Labour. At least these guys wouldn’t sell your pension. Chimps may lack a few table manners, but when a leader takes power, he does so with the will of the group to maintain a stable society that looks after all its members. And when he gets too big for his banana skin boots, the group kicks him out. Transparent government in action.  

Anyway, so back to brother thing. Cain and Abel, Reggie and Ronnie, Noel and Liam... it’s a fraternal minefield. Most brothers will lose at least an eye or a limb over the course of a venomous lifetime. And that’s if they’re lucky. Look at Cain. One little fit of jealousy over who married the best sister (don’t ask/do ask) a handy ox bone - and the guy was doomed to roam the earth for all time. No toilets, no showers, no fresh socks. Ever. You can see why Ed and Dave are frightened to go there. But still, wouldn’t it be great if they and all the other leaders could be as honest as a chimpanzee? Even just for a day.